It was almost lunch time so Harry headed home. The last time his daughter Moe was home she’d made turkey soup and there was still some in the freezer. That would go nicely with the rolls he’d picked up yesterday.
After lunch, Harry went over to the office, just as Bertie pulled into the driveway. He unlocked the door and left it open behind him. When they were both settled at their desks, with freshly-filled coffee mugs, Bertie looked at him. “You first, did Ralph know anything?”
Harry repeated what Ralph had told him. “I’ll write up a report later. Did you find anything?”
She opened a document on her computer. “I found an obituary, but it’s very basic: ‘Rupert Jonah Burton, 1848 – 1935; died at home April first, buried April 3rd; three sons: Connor, Declan and Rupert; daughter Rory. Predeceased by wife Moira.’ You can read it later.”
Harry was staring at his mug in silence and Bertie could almost hear the thoughts whirling in his head. She waited until he looked up.
“Finley was a grown man,” he said, “no known obligations, free to go anywhere and do anything he wanted. There was really no reason to consider him missing or look for him.”
“Are any descendants of the step-siblings around who might know something?”
“Not that I’ve heard. Maybe I should talk to Joe.” He glanced at his watch as he stood up. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
********************
